


Angel Of The Morning

by Luce_cm



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Goodbyes, Implied Sexual Content, Morning After, No Strings Attached, Pining, Pining Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 17:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16163735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luce_cm/pseuds/Luce_cm
Summary: Every dawn, Bucky sees the end of whatever transpires between you two, and no matter how much he wants to, he can never bring himself to ask you to stay.





	Angel Of The Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic based on Angel of the Morning by Juice Newton, for a Tumblr challenge for @softhairbarnes :)

_There’ll be no strings to bind your hands_  
Not if my love can’t bind your heart  
And there’s no need to take a stand  
For it was I who chose to start

Bucky stares back at his reflection in the mirror. The shorter hair, the haunted but still lighter eyes, the metal arm but the slightly less muscular build of his shoulders. A combination between the man of the forties and the Fist of Hydra.

He has told himself over and over that the boy that fell from that train was never coming back, and he understood that. However, he wanted to promise himself that the man with the dead eyes and too-loud mind wouldn’t either. Hence the agreement that he let Natasha’s civilian friend cut his hair. Not quite the style from before the War, but not the long locks that for too long framed the face of a ghost.

Not quite a demon anymore, but never again an angel, if he ever was one.

_Just call me angel of the morning, angel  
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby_

Everything he is nowadays is a blend, a point in between. Not the man that wouldn’t let anyone touch him and would push you away, but not yet the boy with a charming smile that could get you to stay.

So now here he is again, staring back at his kiss-bitten lips, his flushed skin and ruffled hair, happy that you are here again but burdened with the knowledge that you won’t remain.

Maybe he is not a demon, nor an angel, but there is no doubt in his mind he is a mortal foolish enough to fall in love with something painfully out of his reach.

_Just call me angel of the morning, angel  
Then slowly turn away from me_

“Bucky?” You ask through the bathroom door, bringing him out of his head with a start.

“Yeah, doll.”

“I’m making some coffee for the drive back, do I leave you a cup or are you going back to bed?”

Not that he would ever tell you, but he dreads falling asleep in his bed while your heady scent and the warmth of your body still cling to the sheets, sometimes even avoids sleeping in it altogether. Dreams of you haunt his mind once his eyes close enveloped in the proof of you, and for once they are not snippets of the past, but of the future. Snippets of a future he can never have, and that leave him hollower and more broken than any memory before.

He can handle pain, he can handle torture, guilt, death. He has for the last seventy years or so. It is softness, it is light and happiness and love that set him on edge, that have the ability to tear him apart from the inside, to kill what Hydra failed to.

“I’m already awake, might as well stay up.” Is what he answers instead, a smile turning his lips upwards at the sound of your bare feet skipping down your way back to the kitchen.

_Maybe the sun’s light will be dim  
And it won’t matter anyhow_

You are grabbing your keys and humming a soft tune as you stride through his kitchen, his grey-blue eyes following your every move, drinking you in like this is the last time he will have a chance to.

Because maybe it is, even though he doesn’t like thinking about it. Because every time could be the last, because you deserve so much better than him, and because he is too much of a coward to ask you to stay and drive you away for once and for all.

_Then slowly turn away_  
I won’t beg you to stay with me  
Through the tears of the day, of the years

Last night you put an end to everything. He had been telling himself for months that he didn’t hope for anything more than what you were willing to give, but the dead weight on his heart, the acid churning at his stomach when you told him about Nick’s idea to bring you into the UK division of his spy network that worked for the Avengers, they proved him wrong.

He knew he was in love with you long before you two even started the strange arrangement that led to an extremis-like approach to Bucky’s aversion to touch. It was the main reason he prepositioned the arrangement. He couldn’t trust himself to give you his heart, and the way you looked at him like he mattered, like you saw something _good_ in him after all these years…he didn’t want to lose that. So, he gave you what he knew you would accept, what he knew you wanted, and tore down one of his last barriers for you.

He really thought he would have time, he really thought…Bucky shakes his head to himself. It does not matter now.

He is nothing but a monster, one selfish enough to want a life for himself when he has already taken so many. It was foolish, to hope something transcendental was behind the evolution of your relationship, to believe maybe the way your touch was so soothing and craved after so many years of fearing anyone else’s was a sign from the universe that you were the one thing he was not bound to lose.

Foolish, really. Because you are going away, and Bucky knows there’s nothing to make you stay.

He wishes he could. Ask you to stay, that is. He wishes he could be the brave man you see when you look up at him, undeserved praise at the tip of your tongue and the softest of smiles on your lips, the kind that at his weakest he pretends it’s a smile of love. He wishes he could be that man, and ask you to stay, ask you for the sun to come out with you at his side, ask you to give him a chance at making you happy.

But he can’t. He’d rather have you remember him as it is, than try to reach for more and end up losing you altogether and possibly forever. So, Bucky smiles when you turn his way, easy turn of your lips that, as the morning light passes through the window and envelops you in a dim halo, he knows he is no longer allowed to kiss.

_If morning’s echo says we’ve sinned_  
It was what I wanted now  
And if we’re victims of the night  
I won’t be blinded by the light

“Take care of Nat for me, will you?” You ask as you pull back from the embrace, all too soon and all too suddenly. Bucky is not sure he can do this anymore, he’s not so sure he can let you go.

He remembers his ma telling him stories about soldiers that were touched by angels in the battlefield. She used to tell him about bright lights and burning touch, about a glimpse of paradise and the taste of salvation.

But people don’t talk about the aftermath. The way the world is a lot dimmer once they are gone and how their touch brands your skin like the most piercing wound, about a life in purgatory after having been so close to happiness.

A possible life where you are by his side come dusk and dawn flashes before his eyes, and his heart begs him to stop you from leaving, to stop time from continuing on.

A simple plea to give him just a truthful and real day instead of distant nights, a heartfelt promise to make you as happy as he can if you let him, a reassurance to give everything he’s got to not make you regret giving him a chance are all at the tip of his tongue.

Your soft hand is on his cheek, beautiful eyes staring back at him and stealing the words from his mouth. Your thumb is rubbing a soothing pattern on his cheekbone, and it takes all of Bucky’s willpower not to lean into the caress.

“I’ll see you around, soldier.”

You kiss him. It’s all softness and care where in the night it is frenzy and lust, your gentle touch still a caress where it usually is a demand, and yet his heart still beats the same crazy rhythm of every time your lips touch, even if this time his mind is louder than ever.

Your lips finally part from his, and although he feels himself moving forward, trying to chase the peace that comes with your affection, he steels his frame and breathes in deep as you press your forehead to his.

The light is blinding, and Bucky does not want to open his eyes as the sunlight graces both of your bodies and you remain in his arms.

_Just call me angel of the morning, angel  
Just touch my cheek before you leave me, darling_

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to work a little with the image of light and the binary system of dusk-dawn, day-night, because those were the vibes I got the strongest from the song when it comes to imagery and metaphor. I hope I managed to show the difference between the relationship come morning as with the night(s) before.  
> Okay, hope you enjoyed and please let me know your thoughts! Thank you so much for reading and giving my work a chance, I love you all!  
> Love, Luce.


End file.
